I Worry About You
by Amalockh
Summary: LumpusSlinkman. Just 3 chapters, not at all that good, but about the much experimented on favorite couple of Camp Lazlo to some if not many others. Title Changed. Completed.
1. Chapter 1

Inspiration has just struck me with formidable strength.

Well, I'm not sure what I want to write about now. But I am sure of this: this two-page oneshot is about Lumpus and Slinkman.

At first I didn't even realize how I should start it off, but I had a pretty good idea, so I figure I should just roll on with what comes to mind.

Besides, the more I write, the better a writer I'll be, right?

Anyways, If you don't like SLASHES or partial SLASHES, then avoid reading this story or don't give me a bad review.

It isn't really much of a Slash story anyway.

….

Okay, maybe I was wrong. This is TOTALLY a slash story. Why do I even try to hide the fact that I want to?

* * *

The door to the Scoutmaster's cabin was roughly opened as a moose with a frustrated grunt stomped in. a plucky banana slug followed him inside.

"Dag-nabbit! How could let that ANNOYING runt ruin my chances again?" He snarled venomously as he violently moved straight towards his desk.

Slinkman only sighed in equal frustration as he took his own place just standing straight in front of Lumpus's well crafted wooden oak desk. Unlike Lumpus, Slinkman usually preferred to focus his anger or hate or any form stress by holding his Mr. Squishy plush doll; that, or he'd think about the positive highlights of his day, the kind that made him forget his anger. All the more reason he so deeply wanted to exit this mundane scene of angst.

Fumbling through the various "junk" straight in his desk drawer, Lumpus finally managed to pull out what he was looking for in a furious burst of rage. It was a huge punching bag that altogether was a perfect replication of Lumpus's most un-favorite camper and completely oblivious opponent, Lazlo.

With a furious grunt he slammed his fist as hard as he could straight into the fake big smiling Lazlo mouth.

"WHY… CAN'T… THAT… HAPPY… GO… LUCKY… NIN…COM… POOP… JUST… LEARN… HIS… PLACE?" Lumpus angrily ranted with each sudden pause before continuing his pull and push of punches on the Lazlo doll. Every time that Lumpus had to pull out the Lazlo figure on his desk, just even the sight of the unfazed, crazy Brazilian spider monkey made Lumpus get so angry, that he always _made up _a reason to hate Lazlo with every once of his being.

Standing off on the sidelines, all that Slinkman could do right now was nothing. What else could he have done? There was nothing he could have done, because the last time he thought about trying, his mind instantly ran a mental simulation of a worse case scenario: Lumpus throwing Slinkman out the window again.

That was just only _one_ of the many things that made their thinning, barely stable relationship fly off the handle.

"Damn that stupid monkey!" he hissed under his breath, slamming his hand down as hard as he could on desk. But he quickly yelped in pain due to making violent contact with the wooden paneling. But in his fit of rage, it barely mattered. It barely fucking mattered.

Still, though he were on the opposite side of a barbed fence, Slinkman still said nothing. He watched his superior in a strange combination of pity and concern.

Though it wasn't the first time that Lumpus had his "episodes", Slinkman still had no clear way of dealing with him in his state, and left him to physically ebb the fury away. Lumpus never noticed when Slinkman left his office, much less noticed anything other than the storm of his rage subsiding, and the awkward silence following that gave him the time he needed to mull over his past actions.

But today was completely different.

In light of recent events, from Slinkman's point of view he summed it up like this:

That morning, by orders of Commander Hoo-hah, Lumpus had coincided with Ms. Doe to bring the Bean Scouts and the Squirrel Scouts to the tiptop peak of Snowy Mountain. Along the way, he scrutinized that Lumpus was trying to get closer to Ms. Doe. Typical. Lumpus always had a crush on Jane (that's her first name) since the very first time that he laid eyes on her. The real problem was trying to get her to notice him. Ms. Jane Doe was _way_ to focused on trying to keep the scouts in order that she rarely seen that Lumpus was brutally suffering from the ever-so-common case of unrequited love. That wasn't the only problem. Lazlo made it no better for Lumpus with his endless barrage of inquiries, stating facts and being the all-around oblivious pest that Lumpus couldn't shake off. Worse, Jane threatened, though she didn't know why, that she wouldn't ride with Lumpus on the ski lift if he mistreated the bean scouts in the rude fashion she previous saw of him on the bus.

Which made Lumpus feel even angrier with Lazlo. But Lazlo didn't cause that to happen. No, Lumpus was a regular- all time bossy, incredibly stupid jerk.

So why was it that _he_ of all people would end up rescuing all the bean scouts and the squirrel scouts off the mountain? Slinkman didn't understand that.

That was just impossible.

But he did understand what happened afterwards.

Jane, impressed with Lumpus's "heroic deed", graced him with the honor of sitting with him. Unfortunately, he was so scared that he gripped the ski lift seat that sled all the way down the mountain so hard, that his hands were welded to it.

And, to Lumpus's misfortune, Jane told him it was too late. She was going to sit with Lazlo, which made him twice as angry. Of course, for Lazlo's safety, Slinkman _had_ to leave Lumpus there, otherwise Lumpus, un-welded, and just as angry as ever would have wrung Lazlo's neck.

So, Lumpus by unfortunate coincidence had to stay up on the snowy mountain for another 8 hours before Slinkman came back. Of course, by that time, it began to rain, and Slinkman was feeling just plain glum.

That in a nutshell was what led to what Slinkman called, the "Anger management sitcoms of Lumpus".

Still, it wasn't a big deal, really. This sort of thing happened a lot; If Slinkman had a nickel every time Lumpus really did something _wrong_, he'd be rich.

To each their own; Slinkman knew his place in the world, and Lumpus had his. A place called idiot. It was none of his business.

At his desk, Lumpus had finally settled down in his fit of rage and cradled himself in his arms, resting his head on the desk surface. His legs swung woefully to and fro beneath, only hovering an inch above the façade of the wooden floor. With the way he did this, you'd think he'd realize his actions, bad and bad justified nothing for his existence. Which was ironic, because deeds, not words, _can_ justify a beings' existence.

He didn't make a sound. The only sound that Slinkman heard was the pitter-patter of rain drops outside. Again, the scouts were already ordered to stay in their cabins when they came back from the mountain to Camp Kidney, so he didn't have anything to worry about. Wait. Why did he keep telling himself that?

Slinkman could've left, and would've because this now was the perfect opportunity. But what happened was that he stood there against the wall only a short distance away from his boss. For all the good it would've done, he remained silent.

Lumpus wearily lifted his head as if he had sensed Slinkman's presence still in the room. "You still here?" he dully questioned him as he rested his head on his shoulder.

"Sir…" he gave as a barely audible remark. He quietly stepped forward.

He would've reprimanded him for even getting this close to his personal space (truth was he had none), but he too depressed to care. "How ya been, Slinkman?"

It was at times like these that Slinkman got really nervous. When Lumpus had reached this rather sober slump of his personally stage, there was no telling what could happen. It didn't seem as normal a habit that befitted the grief-stricken moose.

Slinkman deeply wished he wouldn't say anything. And, he really didn't want him to. Or did he, since he wished for his thoughts to stop? He couldn't form words to describe whatever unnecessary feelings of misery he felt for him.

"Go ahead, Slinkman." He remained as he was. Sad, gloomy, and anything that matched the meaning behind those words. Though they meant the same thing, he found no other way to know Lumpus as well as he could from inside. It was strange, that after 7 years of working at Camp Kidney, he'd gotten to know his boss better. Instead, he never gotten close enough to understand his viewpoint, and if he did, Lumpus would only close himself away from everybody. But what did he mean by what he said?

"Just admit it, I'm a complete failure." A failure? The slug's heart melted; his only thought was to try and make him… happy? Something deep inside him was drowning in a sea of tears. "No, you're not." He choked in those same visible tears. Lumpus looked up at him in strange surprise.

"I'm not?" his eyes bulged out in surprise. "I couldn't get Ms. Doe to sit with me, I'm no good with telling children what's right and what's wrong, and I didn't even REALLY rescue those little hoodlums!" his head fell on his desk again with loud thump as he started to, from Slinkman's point of view, resort to sobbing.

Now, Slinkman didn't really know what should be and what shouldn't be said. But having to watch Lumpus mope on like that was starting to really grate his cheese. It had so aggravated him that he unexpectedly began to say, "Sir, do you want to go out with me to Prickly Pines for a drink at the bar or something?" When the words escaped his mouth, he suddenly clasped his hands over his mouth because that _wasn't_ what he wanted to say. But it was too late. Lumpus was still moping; then maybe it wasn't that pointless after all. He asked him again. And when he did, he stopped sobbing and slowly raised his worn face to meet Slinkman's in confusion.

"Go out for a drink?" his one good eye twitched questioningly.

Sad, angry, or none, that twitch still creped the scoutmaster's assistant out to no ends. "Yeah, that's- that's what I said. You could drown out your sorrow in sparkling grape brewery. It in itself is supposed to be a cure for the heartbroken moose."

He stared at Slinkman like he came back from a Wedding Shower. But that didn't make any sense, since women, or in the case of their world, animal women go to animal women wedding showers. Lumpus wasn't very good at making a mental deliberation on the situation, be it good or bad, because he at the last minute would punctuate it with a very inappropriate or unnecessary turn of phrase that could hardly pass as a 'metaphor'.

Either way, he took his offer seriously and began to think. If he had a blank sheet in front of him, then he'd make a list of the pros and cons of going and not going, which was something that he wasn't very good at either. But nonetheless he thought about it deeply. Standing off on the sidelines, Slinkman waited in readiness for the prolonged, yet unnecessarily pre-mature answer.

"This isn't like a date or something, is it?" Slinkman both blushed and smirked with embarrassment. He had to hand it to his boss; he was master of stupid and random statements that both didn't yet did relate to the nature of their focus. But he wasn't sure why it suddenly deflated himself like a balloon on the inside when he told him no. Then Lumpus got down to thinking again, but not for very long. This was getting awkward.

Finally, when he decided it all right to get up, he turned to his smaller assistant with an indeterminable expression.

"Alright then, Slinkman, get on the bus and drive to Prickly Pines before the scouts get suspicious." He started walking towards the door, with irregular haste. Not even letting Slinkman get in a word about the _exact _day they should leave since this was obviously a bad day indeed to go to a bar, the woeful Banana slug scrutinized that Algonquin was 'partly' back to normal.

As for the strange feeling he felt deep inside his being earlier, he didn't want to even think about it, for fear that he could discover something he was not meant.

* * *

Well, that's about as much of a 1st chapter that I could do for today. There are two more, so be on the lookout for them. In the meantime, review, post, whatever. I shall get to work on chapter two right away, then afterwards, the third and final chapter.

Later.


	2. Chapter 2

Part of whatever filled his being was floundering through the roaring sea of regret.

In silence, he believed, he turned his face away from the one person who needed him most. But why should have Slinkman cared?

When he spoke up, he did so with the intention of helping his boss out of his normally depressed state. But was that the real reason he did what he did?

Now, instead of sitting alone as he always did in his room and hugging his Mr. Squishy plush doll during a rainy day, he attention was focused on the gas meter and the hand on the mph meter as well. In truth he was staring out at the road, going beneath the bus as trees great and small passed from his point of reference pass the bus on either side. Although, he wasn't paying attention to the trees, or rocks, bushes, all that adorns nature. What he noticed from looking up in the top mirror was his boss sitting in a sit just behind him. In silence. But something didn't seem right.

Lumpus sat there, but he wasn't paying attention to Slinkman, probably because he didn't realize Slinkman took glances up to watch him. He knew he was watching him, but it, this was different. His only focus was diverted to his chin resting on his arm on the windowsill, while his eyes traced the movements of the trees. He wondered to himself, what was he doing existing? He knew it was a dumb question, but he couldn't help but start to wonder this when he started feeling sad. He wasn't tired; he was wide-awake, but sad.

Slinkman turned away. Why should he care about someone who constanly barks orders at him, never says thanks or sorry, or would deliberately strangle another being, mostly Slinkman, without thinking for the welfare of others? Because, no matter how much he hated admitting it, he was a total sap for people in need. It was one of the many unfortunate characteristics of being a slug without a backbone, though they had none to begin with. He couldn't just turn even someone as mean-hearted as Algonquin C. Lumpus away when he was clearly in need. If you were in a situation where you had no choice _but_ to help the least likely person on the planet, the one who detested you so much, who detested others with what he had not, what would you have done? The answer was obvious.

He thought to himself this question, but it didn't give an answer; it instead opened the path towards more questions and query, conundrums. It was too confusing. But he thought deeper. Could there really have been something that contrives itself as an answer? Do all things that point to a truth only coax awaiting queries in shadows, such that are better left answered? Would it bring a truth, or a lie? If the truth is something one can't accept, then will it turn into lies? What could the threads, the theories, so many of them woven together, beget at the center where they meet? Does truth lead only to lies, while lies only point to a truth? When that answer created goes one way, would it disprove all other theories, the most likely theories, proving they were nothing more than lies?

If Slinkman kept going on like this, then he'd doubtless lose concentration on steering the bus. He pushed any thoughts only a philosopher could decipher and glanced at the time above the gas meter. It was 7:00. He had at least $30, enough to spend on a couple of drinks at the both renown and infamous of bar in Prickly Pines, _The Earth's Blessing_. He had a very angry grimace on his face; who in the hell could pull off naming a bar where slothful, immoral things happen, like drinking, swearing, and even stripping? But then, there were other bars out there that had oddly similar and exact opposite titles and aliases. The one they were headed to was no different. He thought about this, and then he also remembered an event some weeks ago, where Lumpus lost Jelly Bean Cabin in a restaurant, and despite his suggestions, Lumpus denied common sense to go back there. Instead, they ended up trying to enter a bar where there were, in his opinion, at least 60 burly, brawny, inebriated western-stereotypical men playing cards or rousing trouble. They, that is to say, Lumpus and Slinkman instantly brewed up trouble by just stepping inside and asking about Jelly Cabin, but they retreated afterwards, only to suddenly subject their selves to a VERY humiliating endeavor to get back into the restaurant. It was Lumpus's fault in the first place for trying to attempt to a successful 'dine and dash' right in the sort of place where little kids could get lost, or even _hurt_.

In any case, they were headed towards that very same bar with the very contrary name. But they didn't have anything to worry about, since on rainy days, a majority of the townsfolk, including tough looking fellows were holed up in their homes, watching news, sleeping, watching sitcoms, comedies, sports, or eating. No one really took rainy days as important unless they were working, or worked very far away; so one would happen to see a man or woman with an umbrella headed towards their own specified destination, and it was commonplace.

"Slinkman, are we _there_ yet?" Lumpus asked in scowling form to the slug driving the bus. Because he already had his hands tied in decelerating the speed of the bus as it they entered the narrow streets of the town, it took Slinkman a minute before he could take to forming an answer. Wiser words he couldn't use, knowing that Lumpus probably wouldn't understand. But something needed to be said; he wasn't sure why it had to have been a hassle to think of something to say, but then, when dealing with someone like Scoutmaster Lumpus, there was no one easy way to go about it.

"Almost there, sir," Slinkman had his foot close to the break, since they were already only a few blocks from their point of arrival. He stopped the bus, then turned off the ignition, and opened the door agitatedly fumbling with his keys. Lumpus followed without a word. They were standing just outside the entrance.

Raining. It was still raining. Why wouldn't it stop raining? He angrily thought this in his mind. Things, no, they _weren't_ things! He knew. He knew that they were feelings. But what did they represent to him now? Now wasn't the right time or place for this. Though through his whole life he was taught to give a 'hoot' and be ever vigilant and thoughtful on whatever rigid ordeal he faced, today, today he'd cast aside his dull natural order of working things out to the wayside, and just... enjoy himself (For a split second, he felt a lot like Lumpus). To hell with common sense. For once, he realized, being an adult really _did_ have its advantages. He was no kid, kiddies. Whoever heard of a kid, let alone a kid with eyestalks and a banana colored tail driving all the way to get a drink?

As they stepped inside, the very first thing Slinkman noticed right away was the foul stench parading the closed vacuum of space hanging in the ceiling. He remembered at a young age, how his mom often told him that smoking was bad; he remembered his years spanning between graduations from Junior high to graduation from Galloping Gastropod University. Smoking as he recalled, could kill people, since it had the alluring, yet devastating chemical component Nicotine sealed inside the narrow tube. While he ended up staying drug-free through the rest of his time in high school, one of his closest friends, the first he ever made didn't.

Very few, like the skeptical, tough-looking, moody, dangerous types were seated at the various tables nearly close the corners of the dismal-colored establishment. But they were looking drousy, almost too drunken to actually notice their presence headed for the seats near the tall wine shelves.

Lumpus stole the opportunity to casually take a seat, Slinkman following his action. They certainly had taken to the quick pace of things. Then again, as they were residents of a southern-backwater area like Prickly Pines in the south, it was no foreign thing for them to get the uptake. It was impossible not to, if you lived long enough in hick counties. After what seemed like an eternity, the bartender, which was a male pitch-black color furred cat, dark as soot, with no definite age. But what Slinkman noticed was the nametag on his apron that read, "Bractselk". Probably a very complicated and rather nautical Dutch last name, he thought.

Though Dutch as from what Slinkman could tell, his voice seemed like that of a New Yorker. "So what can I douse for yas' gentleske type folk?" he asked them in his helpful, foreign-to-country accent, but as Lumpus wheeled around to meet his attention, they both noticed his hands were pretty busy with cleaning out a delicate, ornery glass cup. Still, the moose, not the slug took the nature of this encounter by a more serious, though not properly done note.

"Oh uh, yeah, a couple of drinks, on the rocks, my good bartender," was the good-natured answer from the docile moose.

Instead of a nod, he did receive a 'yes sir', in addition to making a pointing gesture with his hand at Algonquin's hat. He understood and took it off, not wasting a moment. Then the bartender, Bractselk went about his business. He turned his head just before he started to ask, "Uh, what type youse want, gentlemen?"

"I'll uh, take the special," answered Lumpus.

"You got a low speed reserve?" asked Slinkman.

"You got it," Bractselk said to Lumpus, and turned to Slinkman to inquire further as his hands were expertly at meticulously handling the caskets. "How low speed cha want it?" Slinkman would've answered but then he was abruptly cut off when the bartender said, "Oh yeah, I get it. Yeah, most folks like youse can't take it through." He spoke to him this, not nastily, but more good-naturedly than most folks who'd just said something out of spite just to get a response. "Hmm, yeah. Dully noted," Slinkman said with a smile as he returned the response. Bractselk gave the return smile and continued his work. Of course, throughout the minor exchange of dialogue, he was already well finished with drink he prepared for Lumpus and just started on Slinkman's. Slinkman thought as he walked over to hand the drink out, that this old cat must have had spent many of years running the place, and had grown more experienced and familiar with the common tasks his job entailed.

There was an old-fashioned T.V. with wood paneling, sitting on a platform at the left ceiling corner of the room. On the screen were sports, though, Slinkman didn't take any interest in that. A myriad of players moving about on the screen as the camera tracks their movements; it wasn't as interesting to watch so Slinkman diverted his attention away from the screen. There was music. He heard it when they first came inside. From what he could tell, Lumpus heard it too. Though in a place like this, no really cares about what music plays and talks about, only if fits the mood and atmosphere of their surroundings.

But he didn't think on it for long when Bractselk came by and handed the slug his drink. In turn, Slinkman pulled out a wallet and produced $40 (It was the very first time in 5 years that he actually had enough to pay for something he was buying for both himself and Lumpus). While Bractselk wouldn't have accepted this until they prepared to leave, it was too good of an offer to pass up. The sum was definitely enough for at least 2 more drinks. They would be here for a while so he gave Slinkman a rather thankful smile before retreating back to the storage room, which was in truth, his private lounge. He out of the kindness of his heart set up 2 more drinks on the other end let one or two of them they finish off their firsts.

The old slug picked his up and started sipping some down.

About a few minutes later he finished off a little more, feeling the inebriation taking hold. But he kept doing this at a slow pace. Still, he noticed his thoughts weren't spinning out of place. He kept his hold on a few more seconds of trained thought as his face flushed, shades of red slightly becoming visible. It was true, he thought, he almost felt giddy when exposed to alcohol, though this was the sort, that he found out later, would not make one go deliriously happy, but deliriously trapped in a vast array of moody emotions.

He wasn't even sure how it happened, but his head sank low in the cradle of his arms whimpering. He felt dizzy. He felt like he almost couldn't lift his head up, heck, he almost forgot his surroundings, like the chair he sat in, and the moose who sat in the seat right next to him. Wait… moose who sat in seat right next to him… Lumpus.

He lifted his head shakily to turn around, because the intoxicating aftereffects of the wine he sipped; when he Lumpus focused in his view, he halted mid-preparation. A spectrum of mixed emotions clouded his thinking space, albeit to a sudden, and strange need to hug him more close than a friend should. It didn't, in his mind, feel as unnatural than stepping into a swamp.

He couldn't form words right now to describe what he felt that moment. But what were words, which they only speak the things and thoughts that are important, leaving out the notes, queries, and recordings that our minds create and hold on to that prove as lesser importance? The cup; he finished it. Slinkman was only half done with his. Lumpus couldn't hear him now. But then again, Slinkman was feeling tired, almost needy and… where did 'need' fit in that equation? But tiredness was about as common with delusion and deliriousness, common aftereffects of drinking. He made a slight moan in his woozy haze.

"Uh, um… uh… ooohh, uuuuuhh, mm…. Lumpus?" No answer. The T.V., and the music were still on, still playing. But while he was drunk, Slinkman seemed to have completely forgotten that they even existed. The way he was now, in his world, the only thing that were there were Lumpus and the counter where their drinks sat; but to Slinkman, it didn't look as much like a counter, in his twisted reality it looked similar to a strained longitudinal waves bouncing with two indistinguishable objects bouncing at the wave's crest. He croaked his name again. Still no answer.

He groaned again, placing his hand on his forehead to stop the painful swelling in his mind from growing out of control. Why couldn't Lumpus hear him? was being drunk really a hindrance? And, it got really, really hot in there. So hot he imagined sweat the size of bricks slipping down his slick surfaced skin.

Oh, how it felt weird. With some difficulty he tried getting up, but ended up dropping off his seat and hitting the floor. The pain he felt when he slammed on the floor was nothing compared to the odd headache he was experiencing. He felt so tired… so very, very tired. He didn't complain now, for out of the corner of his eye someone was picking him up and caressing his hot, faint frame. That felt weird. The face of his captor was truly… Slinkman? But the one held in his arms went by that same name. This… wasn't… it… couldn't be… happening.

Before he could have mentally noted his suddenly and terribly quick immersing into "someplace else", he lost he ability to think.

"Uhhhh… Ooooh," he quivered, moaning, and it almost sounded like his the volume was amplified by a hundred fold; it resembled an echo, and it creped him out. Blurs, circular shapes, triangular, irregular patterns, hazes pointing in jagged constructions, abnormal luminescent objects floating in his head. Sounds were no better, something, whatever it was, cast a shadow, and it made a sound like a broken record, deliberately and suddenly as he mixed them, increasing and decreasing pitches that he had to put his hands to his partly visible ears, and he really believed that he was going to go mad! But was it not his fault? He chose to do this, and to his dismay, anything could happen. He felt almost naked to the scary, undiscernibly magnitude that was reality on a much, much different scale. That hurt. But what hurt? He felt more than lightheaded. He wanted to scream. He couldn't see anything that made even the smallest glimmer of sense; twisted, how could he see? He looked at his hands, for they seemed to vanish. No, they suddenly looked _white_. Numbers floating by, and the sky tinted pink like flowers, looked like flowers! When would the madness stop? He was falling down, down, down. He had the insane and senseless urge to bite the hand that… no, the phrase didn't apply to him now, because he wasn't some baby! But in that 2 dimensional realm, it hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. It hurt, it hurt so bad, that he felt he could never get up. When would it stop? Why did he feel strangely comfortable? Even now, he didn't recognize Lumpus.

By the time Lumpus realized it, he hit rock bottom when he finished his own drink, unaware of how immense the strength of that day's 'special' was. His eyes were running with blood soaked veins, tears, but everything around him suddenly felt absolutely, _significant_. All around him, it was like he was swimming in the sea of some rainbow. His own demented reality altered by the nausea-toxic drink was equivalent matching to Slinkman's. But much earlier, What Slinkman didn't notice, was that Lumpus already finished his first drink, and he had finished his second in the time it took him to; it wasn't as surprising, considering that he had a big mouth. He fell into the high state at a quicker rate than Slinkman did, which accounted for why he didn't hear Slinkman calling him to begin with. But being the self-conceited moose he was, he thought (what he was able to) that he needn't bothered with unimportant things like listening to some ding-dong, always-right, meddling voice that sounded too familiar to be called a 'figment of his imagination'. His world, dreary, dark, and foreboding, consisted of what he dreams were made of; they had pointy, cruel jagged rocks, stone-cold mountains, ravenous anthills, thralls of demons spawning from the darkest depths of hell, fire, hell flames, superior bursts of lava suddenly spewing straight upward, colliding with the gassy carbon-dioxide contaminated atmosphere, much like on the planet Venus, that and, oh, to his greatest joy, his three most unfavorite (He knew that wasn't a word, believe it or not, he is stupid, but not completely) campers, the three from Jelly Cabin, impaled on dark tridents, blood dripping with a tinkling sound. You can imagine the true nature of the exuberant joy he felt when that appeared before his eyes. But… in the midst of all what happened, he heard a strange sound, foreign, sending a bone-chilling wind up his spine. He was preparing to scream, because it was the most horrible sound he ever heard. He felt like he was going to have a seizure, probably he'd faint. But seizures, they come, they go, they only give you that fleeting moment of relief, the sort that is given to certain people. The fainting never came, so why did he set his hopes so high? In the double entrée of that word, he was already 'high' to begin with.

Behind his back, he heard as distant sound with varying low pitch, a loud thud that echoed in his ear. In his world, everything that was a composition to his happiness, a euphoria that so filled his cold body, with warmth to the bone suddenly fell to pieces, crumbled, and succumbed to oblivion. That which was his sanctuary of ignorance, no, an imagination, a creation born of ignorance crashed, and that was left to his world was him a miserable moose who almost touched that which couldn't be grasped: the concept of death. But it didn't matter, all he wanted to know was why, and how, and what, and who. He was still too drunk to understand how it happened. But someone, he ascertained, someone out there in the wild, wild, west (now, his imagination became really screwed up) needed his help and it was time to 'ride' out to their aid. In his mind, that's how he randomly pictured that scenario; but he too, suddenly fell down into a _void_. It wasn't dark. But there was no light. He couldn't describe it if he wanted to. I myself, as I write this, could not have described it either.

But he felt it right there. There in that light that wasn't light, and world enshrouded in darkness that wasn't truly enshrouded in darkness, for no reason did he want to reach out to someone and hold them tightly. To make that darkness that wasn't there but was go away. May all other things go. Fly, fly, fly, Fly away, went his cry. Would Lumpus hold it there? He held the hand of a certain somebody. _Somebody_. So irritating; he loved, but he didn't know whom he loved! Then, a vague image of someone, a woman looked dingy and faded and it instantly vanished, cruelly laughing in his face. Well then, _fuck you! fuck you! _He thought in his head, the first words he could form. Now, he had no more feelings towards that one thing. He was free! But was he happy? No, he was mad! He was mad, but also happy! But he couldn't be either of these things, for he felt sadness. He was sad because, because he had no one to love. So confused he was, but then, the world of Romance was in itself a puzzle that couldn't be solved, a war that you couldn't figure out, a random stroke of luck in gambling that precious few were able to get. He knew he had no one to love. To hold. To reach out and touch tenderly. To grab in his hairy arms, though in his deluded state, he couldn't have held anyone, or remembered whom he held. But it didn't matter. Ah! But he should continue, it needs to continue, grow. To protect… to…To… to…

He staggered out of his in-between world, barely. Barely, it is a good word that should be used, for none other brings a smile to one's face; I say, one says, they say, who says it's a good word, for Lumpus was still intoxicated. He had his arm around his own friend, the one who stood by his side those many days. Like ghosts they floundered out of there, unnoticed, though he managed to choke out a thank you to… and drat, he forgot the bartender's name. He never felt so angry. This was way different than the anger he always felt for Lazlo, he noticed. It was different. But it was a sort that felt righteous. The music faded away as they both staggered out. Then he stopped, giving whomever the chance he needed to scrutinize their surroundings. Then he heard him speak. Though he wouldn't have cared even if he were given some championship trophy for learning how to listen, the voice befitted an angel (Keep in mind that, he was still drunk). But this angel had eyestalks as tall as his shoulders, a banana colored tail, and a neckerchief embellishing his dull tan-colored ensemble. His face, flushed nonetheless but so beautiful as it almost matched his. But where were the wings? Maybe, as a wild thought, this was a _fallen_ angel. A little too extreme of an alias for someone like Slinkman, as he recalled as the one he carried out, but it seemed sweet to Lumpus anyway. Unable to actually understand what Slinkman had just said, something about… Slinkman driving, but- bah! How that could wait, Lumpus had as an afterthought. He didn't fully recognize Slinkman. This angelic being with broken wings, singing broken songs, it looked sad. _It_ needed to be kissed. It was the only focused thought that Lumpus had all that evening.

Less inebriated now, Slinkman felt a sign of relief when a smile almost went to his face. Their trek completed, and Lumpus definitely looking a lot like any memory of his last trip was gone, and now… well, Slinkman wasn't sure of the _now_, beyond just getting in the bus and headed back to camp. He was feeling lightly inebriated, so he knew of course that he wouldn't have much problem driving back. Lumpus was a much different case, because two drinks, not one, can several odd aftereffects. For example, what Slinkman unexpectedly heard as he helped his boss get back on the bus:

"You're _beautiful_."

"Huh?" He really didn't see that coming. He stared at him when he was only halfway at the final step into the bus. He must have heard him wrong, right? he didn't say (and he almost gulped hard) he's beautiful, that was crazy! He wanted to ask him again.

"What did you say, Scoutmaster Lumpus?"

An awkward pause followed with an equally awkward sentence. "Slinkman, you know that I love you right?" his eyes twitched uncontrollable. Still at a loss, with disturbing memories of that same sentence used on Parents day flooding back, he decided to not answer the question. He casually stepped to the drivers seat after mindfully getting Lumpus to seat, all the while jarring any of his strange questions and drunken inquiries.

But on the road back things got gradually worse. Lumpus kept sneaking up and cuddling him. Slinkman tried ignoring him, or at the very least, pushed him back.

"Slinkman, tell me you love me."

He didn't say anything.

"Slinkman, please?"

He wasn't really sure if this was Scoutmaster Lumpus, but it was, and he was still drunk.

"Sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinkmaaaaaaaaaan," he groaned his name in a long, agonized sigh, "C'mon, tell that you love me! I love you, why can't you love me back?"

When will the damn inebriation wear off? He thought, still mindful of his personal space being invaded. Never had Slinkman been so regretful about that night; Lumpus cuddled him as he was driving, forcing him to feel incredibly, uncomfortable. He was glad that his drunkenness wore off, for he could concentrate on the road and nothing else. It hurt, so hurt to watch that man really lose it all, because of two drinks. He'd have no memory of that evening, which made Slinkman joyful… 

… and sad.

Sir…I… 

And since he'd have no memory of that evening, maybe it was time. The words, those three delightful words wanted to escape his mouth now. The feelings he had returned, and at the single worst possible time in Slinkman's life. He gave credit to Lumpus, he had forced his feelings right in the open. So, what was so worse about this moment? It mattered to him. What mattered to him was right here and now.

"Sir…" he started. He didn't pay any attention to him, but his eyes targeted the road. They were only seconds from Camp Kidney. Before long, the gate entrance came. The bus slowed then stopped just in front of the Scoutmaster's Cabin. He got up, and expected to see Lumpus grasping him. But he had a really unexpected surprise- Lumpus dropped on the floor, sprawled out in the most peculiar way that was really unusual, and falling asleep.

"Oh, I guess it could wait," said he. But truthfully enough, he couldn't. He leaned down hoping to snatch the last precious moments he was far from logic. Lumpus was still awake, as he discovered, but barely. He noticed his presence. When the other looked deep into their eyes some awkward happened. Slinkman started to pull away, but he got the idea that Slinkman deliberately leaned down to get a kiss. But Slinkman was thinking it could not happen. This was unbeknownst to Lumpus. He grabbed the back of Slinkman's head and pulled him down, giving Slinkman a surprisingly desperate, warm, passionate kiss.

_So horrible, so horrible…but…it feels so good, warm. _

He moaned deeply as he pulled him close. Slinkman wasn't even sure what happened; but he was sure that he tasted the alcohol in his breath, mixed in with the graze of hot, deep passion his boss offered. So long he waited, and now, he wouldn't hide his feelings anymore. Perhaps, what Slinkman wanted, what he truly needed to tell him, couldn't have been expressed in words. Lumpus sat up, his arms wrapped around Slinkman's waist. They breathed quiet moans in their locked embrace. His hand touched the slick skin softly basking in joy he so wanted to express. He had found the being he lovingly wanted to protect. Oh, how he would treasure that moment forever. But forever seemed to shorten, since in an instant, he suddenly broke the kiss and fell backwards, finally falling asleep.

As he started to snore, Slinkman looked on his boss, remembering how tenderly he touched his cheek, and blushing still, and grinning. But his joy crashed to Earth when he realized that when Lumpus woke up, the drunkenness would wear off and he wouldn't remember a thing.

Still, the end of that evening really turned out better than Slinkman realized.

-----

An hour later found Slinkman getting that same moose he was making out with on the floor of the bus up to his room. He regretted having to take upon himself such a difficult task; what did Lumpus weigh, about 200 pounds? He ate a lot more than he could chew. _What an amazing man_. But he didn't mind it at all. It was typical he should be like that, and he wasn't supposed to order what he could or could not eat.

He laid him a typical sleeping position on his bed when they came up to his room. Then he made a hastened exit for the door. He didn't look behind for even one second because he really needed some time alone. At last, to his relief, he got to his room. And he pulled out his Mr. Squishy from under the sheets on his bed. As laid there, he tried looking back on everything that happened that evening. He couldn't remember and it baffled him in a strange way. But after what happened on the bus…

Tomorrow, maybe he'd get a chance to think things over.

But after everything else, he found his head hurt and passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

**True emotions are…**

A haze, mix of blurs, emotions, feelings, and a need to noticed, are they sometimes what can be believed as real? As far this writer knows, nothing.

Emotions. They can build us up. They make up who we are. They help us understand ourselves. But they can just as easily destroy us. They can tear us down. Dig deeper, and you realize that sometimes, in this world the only way you can get anywhere, is by faking them. Who needs true emotions when you can be successful? Who needs true emotions when you have wealth that can last you forever? The ones who find no respect or value in their lives and prey upon welfare of others, is the answer.

But what kinds of emotions are there? Anger, hate, happiness, sadness, that's all I know. There are many more.

Anger is an emotion experienced too often. Anger is the fire that consumes everything precious to you. Anger causes you to destroy what can't bring back. Material possessions are testaments to how much you love the world, and value your being more than you value others welfare. Possessions, they come and go, but the friendships you've built up in your life will last forever. You can never replace that. You can never destroy what you know cannot be replaced. And when you've stopped being angry, what do you have to show for it? You find how pointless it was, how irrefutably foolish it was to take your rage and direct it on all that which comforts you. Anger, it is such a terrible torrent of confusion and bitterness. A ravenous inferno that grows and feeds on the loneliness and dark emotions you contrive in your heart.

Happiness is a given that comes only when you truly want it. Happiness, is but what a fleeting dream? A flower that blooms late in the day, only to disappear in the night air; then it comes back by dawn, kisses a fly, narry a care to ponder in the world, sending waves, no, showers of blessings and friendly smiles as a beacon of light in the darkness drear of your world.

Sadness is a wave of despair slowly ebbing away at your broken spirit. Sadness comes as an aftershock of anger. Like the singed bark of trees after a fire; it is regret in its' purest form. It is comes when you realize you have nothing. It comes, only to be replaced with deeper sorrow or anger later. It comes when you know that a situation is hopeless. It comes when you know that… you've lost or forgot something that you can never get back. People hate being sad. But you can't shun away what is inevitable; you can't turn your back on it. For sadness, as well as anger or hate, or happiness, justifies the true feelings you have for what you know, without a shadow of a doubt, what's most important…

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**After the rain…**

He would always remember yesterday. The way they went, their experience there, and coming back. So maybe Lumpus wouldn't remember their kiss, the way they almost joined as one in beautiful union. Slinkman believed, it was better that way, no questions asked. Maybe it hurt, maybe he felt scarred for the rest of his life, but he knew it in his heart to be true. If only, oh, god, if, if only he wasn't breaking up on the inside because of said scenario. And… it wouldn't have made things any better if he had.

He woke up, taking in the calm, reassuring silence of the morning air. Without a second thought, he set about his early chores and routine preparations for the Scoutmaster's awakening. He was, in an unexplainable way, flustered with the busy schedule he'd spot himself gorging on for the rest of the day; this was because, though the thought struck him as incredulous, he'd have to play the part of Camp Kidney's motor as usual. Lumpus would not, not even for the sake of the Commander (unless his presence was just two inches from him) work unless it was for money, and he rarely received any pay. That, and for many other good reasons too, which accounted for why Slinkman never received his own pay after working his butt off for countless hours around the camp. But right now, he disregarded the facts and notions as nothing as he was dusting off the many possessions and valuables in the Scoutmaster's office.

At the very least, he was able to do his usual manual labor without any trouble. Or, 'without _emotionally _breaking down', should be the correct phrase.

Dull, as the morning seemed except for the far-off sound of Raj's rendition of playing the morning bugle as the official wake-up call for the entire camp, the rather rushed banana slug was feeling strange, even for someone as dismal and depressing as him. He knew what he was like and what he was around people but never with Lumpus. He didn't understand where he stood on the issue with _him_, much less, where he fit in that unsolvable equation. Perhaps, he thought as he finished up, that the only reason he battled with everything: he hadn't come to a decision. But his thoughts were immediately interrupted when he heard the eerily quiet footsteps of Lumpus descending downstairs. When he stepped into the room, all borderline mental theories were put on hold.

Still looking as groggily and grumped up as ever, he paid Slinkman no mind as he took his seat and absent-mindedly started fumbling through the papers on his desk. Papers, that Slinkman had meticulously and precariously spent _two damn hours_ trying to organize. Right now, there was a bit of resentment, but with all his mental will he barely averted to openly making it known as he stood to attention. Instead, he made up the lie to himself that perhaps, he _deliberately_ did that just to busy Slinkman even further, acting as if he'd just take it. Unfortunately, he had forced himself to tender to that kind of wronged, mindless job-catering and he chose to 'just take it'. Wasn't the sort to at least try and grow some backbone, was he?

Silence, the sort that happens when you know something that other person, sitting on the opposite side of you doesn't know and continues to wallow in blissful unawareness, pervaded the room in the most stifling manner.

"mm, mm, uh, morning Slinkman," Lumpus started, but didn't meet his eye gaze at the spot he stood. It sounded like he was tired, or maybe he was still trying to shake off the shackles of his recent alcohol-induced rest of yesterday, reluctantly trudging along to get back into the swing of running his position. His wandered to his sore temple and as he gingerly rubbed with confusion, he also tried ascertaining whether or not to turn after a cup of water and pain reliever; either choice befitted him, for as long as he stayed in the office, he didn't have to face the annoying, sickening, gleeful, grinning, slap-happiness of those rotten little mutants called campers, especially the 'genetically altered mutant of the ages', Lazlo.

"Um, uh, morning, sir," was all that the scoutmaster's assistant was able to stammer in the most submissive tone of voice he heard. This came aside from the fact that he couldn't help noticing something odd with Lumpus's behavior. Why in the hell did things _have_ to get so awry in the morning?

He looked; nay, he practically _screamed _the same exact look that ran across his face yesterday. _Bad time to reminisce, Slinkman_. That put him on a level of awkwardness he'd never known before in his life. Then came the horrible part: Did Lumpus actually remember what happened on the bus? While he pondered many other terrible things, Lumpus surprised him. If there were others, he'd have surprised them all.

"Hey, you alright? You're look hurt, are you?" Slinkman's eyeballs nearly dropped out of his eyestalks.

"So are you going to answer the question or no, Slinkman?" If there was any advantage to fainting, that was avoiding confrontation with the idiot of the millennium. He would've fainted, but they didn't come to him, no matter how much he mentally willed it to happen. Plus, fainting actually hurt, contrary to popular opinion. Ugly enough for the next guy who was either brave or foolish enough to try and take on something so damn stupid, when it was so damn easy.

"I guess we never finished our drinks," he finished looking like a deflated balloon. But unbeknownst to him, the inside of Slinkman's stomach suddenly felt like had butterflies (empty for short reference). That, or the gut center of his stomach dropped out of place, or he had suddenly crashed back to Earth in an alarmingly fast rate, or any combination of the three. It was beyond being able to be described.

"You know, I can't remember a thing after we went down to the bar yesterday," he continued, though even now, Slinkman hadn't spoken, plus it didn't look like he was planning on speaking still, which made him awestruck in a very thunderstruck way, "I guess I must have fallen asleep. And, this is the weird part, but I dreamt that I was kissing Jane Doe in my dreams."

It felt like gravity took advantage and forced Slinkman to suddenly fall through the center. So sudden, so scary, so _unexpected._ That was all Slinkman could think. What transpired, what had given him the fleeting body of heavenly joy that flooded his soul, that was only because Lumpus pictured Jane Doe in Slinkman's place!

"Kind of crazy, don't cha think?" he asked him once more. Slinkman perked up to finally understand his attention was focused on him. "Um, uh yeah, I suppose, pretty crazy, sir." When he finished, he found to his surprise that was no rhyme or reason to why he had said what he said. They hung about the air like leaves, awaiting that next, swift gust of wind to carry them. It was painful to think that maybe those leaves would serve no purpose. That, that they had no clear destination.

"Because," Lumpus fed the dwindling flame of short dialogue exchange as a finale, "I didn't-"

Didn't? He didn't? Didn't what? And the long awkward pause that followed had Slinkman on his toes, looking out for it. He was getting so anxious, so terribly, terribly, anxious, he felt he was on the verge of exploding. He contemplated just exploding for no apparent reason, but he had common sense to tether him right at the thin line where his sanity had apparently dwindled.

"Slinkman," he started a new question, damn it all to hell why'd he go and do that? "would you believe me if I told you that I didn't enjoy it as much?"

He didn't know how it happened, how the sudden dam breaking in his head was a catalyst, how it was garland to his soul breaking…

"How I hated it even?"

How it was a garland to his soul breaking…

"Eh, you probably don't get it."

"I…"

"Hmm?"

Somehow, his soul tearing apart was only the kink.

"I… I don't get it either, you're right. I don't."

He solemnly agreed.

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**Non-Sequitur**

The day moved on. Nothing special, to Slinkman, really happened. It went off without a hitch. But what hung in his head all day was the conversation they had that morning. The way Lumpus looked almost worried. Lazlo hadn't caused any trouble the whole day and that was enough of a blessing. It made Slinkman think. But near the end of the day he decided that he wanted by himself, so he stole away to the glorious hill of flowers at sunset.

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… **Cold winds, as blue as the sea…**

Alone. He was alone again. But being out there, as the sun unwillingly hid itself; he'd remember being alone many a day. Many a day, he had no one to be near. Loneliness was a kin to misery, and his sister, doubt.

He doubted, because part of him deeply, truly believed that maybe he wasn't, that he didn't, that he couldn't belong. (Oh, God, he just felt he didn't belong. That he didn't believe.)

But then, what purpose did he serve here?

He was Slinkman, a Scoutmaster's assistant. Nothing more, nothing less. Right? Perhaps, and further still someone who emphasizes being a neat and tidy know-it-all, the self-proclaimed, voice of logic and reason who runs Camp Kidney with a gentle hand to everything. This doesn't exclude scouts, sports, cafeteria duty, and managing hosting events and contests.

But is it really that simple? That he can sum up himself in a few short words? That's what happened the day when signed up to assist in running Camp Kidney, 7 years ago.

Birds are simple enough. They're small creatures that have wings, and they can fly. Trees are simple enough; they grow, not minding their surroundings, from the Earth. They have leaves, they have branches, and sometimes, they have fruits. Houses are simple enough; they serve the purpose of sheltering anyone it's fold, from the cold harshness of the outside world. Food is a substance that exists to sustain you. Grass is green. It grows only to become a pestilence to gardening enthusiasts, and they are cut down. Flowers make the world pretty. Flowers come in different colors, shapes, and sizes. Flowers make the people you give them to happy. Bikes are used for having fun and exercise; the horn that Raj plays in the morning makes amazing music. Raj was a kid, Edward was a kid, Dave was a kid, Lazlo was a kid, and Skip was a kid himself.

But it wasn't really all that simple. Nothing ever was. No, not everything is as it appears from the first glance.

It didn't always have to be simple. If everything was simple and easy, what was the point of living life if it didn't even provide much of a challenge?

After all, the Jelly Cabin Trio _did_ find out about Slinkman's former past, those glorious days when he was _Super Slug_. So in the upshot, there was more to Slinkman than he himself realized. But after finally conquering Dead Beans Drop, he resigned his former occupation, leaving behind only memories.

He smiled to himself. It was a soft smile, filled with glowing ambition and promise; he reminisced about those good old days. In those days, Lumpus had an afro and he was slightly younger. Slinkman had hair himself and was slightly younger. In those days, the new mainstream message was to share the peace and to enjoy the tranquility that nature offered. In those days, generally during the summer, Slinkman dared to believe. He wanted to believe he was more than what he was. He dared to believe that he could go further than his miserable existence. That he could be different.

But those were just memories now, and he was still who he was. He was still the same Slinkman, and he'd stay like that always for all he knew. It was almost like marriage; the chains of his job bound him to his obligation and low payment Fridays.

He sighed. Only so much to himself, he drooped his head down and suppressed whims of mirth threatening to burst. It's hard to understand what he was going through now, but to put it in a clearer light; his laughter was melancholy at best. His tears that were falling down his face were those of experiencing the sort of humor that can't be laughed at. In short, he had his fair share of mood swings, so many complicated emotions, so many unexplainable thoughts and random intellectual feelings. But they pointed to one thing: would he be any less of a living being if he wanted to be with Lumpus? Would others still regard him with the same sincerity of respect if that were the case?

Two questions he couldn't answer. He thought; let someone else follow the trail of that journey, and let's see what _they_ come up with. It'd make no difference. What would he do? Would he tell him? When he did, would he recuperate those same feelings? Did he even have feelings to begin with? So many questions, so many what-if's and would've been's, layer upon layer of mixed feelings and doubt alone piled on his skinny shoulders.

No. He wouldn't doubt anymore. But he would not raise his hopes as well. But there was no trace of doubt left of him; not anymore, he had no more disbelief. He chose to not run away, not to hide.

Slinkman unflinchingly stared into the azure sky, and raised his hand. The palm was open, just to feel the night air whisking freely in and out. The winds from the east flew upward with the fast current and the flow sailed away to the withdrawn, fiery, closed fist of the setting sun. One by one, the stars began to appear in the night sky. To Slinkman, it resembled tiny diamonds bedecking the blue folds of fabric blanketing the Earth.

He watched the stars come out of hiding and watched their wonderful dance; he listened to the music. His mind had perfectly composed the notes of the symphony they were playing. Each note was deep, like it had true depth, that it had true meaning. He never heard anything so beautiful, so clear.

He almost grew envious.

When would he get to make his own stars? When would he be able to write his own symphonies?

He'd find out… someday. But when would that_ 'someday'_ be? Still far off from knowing the answers, still unable to grasp that thin line in the void. Till then, he'd live; living the way he was. He'd live not knowing these answers. He'd live still striving to find the answers to those questions, and maybe, many more. Let all other things fade into the background. He'll always treasure the friendship he has with Lumpus. Whatever happens, whatever changes may come, whatever challenge awaits them… with him he'll be steadfast, a promise from the stars, till the day he can confess his feelings, and they together will stand…

…for them, to hold dear what they truly believe.


End file.
